Category Archive: Morsel Institute

Fried mackerel, peanuts, cilantro, lemon curd at Uchi on S. Lamar, June 6, 2007 Stingray and I waited an hour for a table at Uchi last night. Then we ordered the chef’s tasting menu (the actual name for it was a Japanese phrase meaning “I trust you”). Whereupon Jody, our server, brought us 8 or …

Moonrise over the berry-flavored barium ‘smoothie’. UPDATE, JUNE 2: For those of you following my tiptoe through the garden of cancer, the scans were negative for metastases. One is tempted to hoist cups of wassail, but as it is only 10:30 in the morning, a shot of Patrón will suffice. A shout-out to the excellent …

After the Twistolution, ‘hamburger’ will have more meaning than ‘woman’. Burger and onion rings at Phil’s Ice House, North Austin. May 2007. Yesterday I asked yew-all what the word ‘woman’ means. Thanks to those of you who answered; it was sporting of you, considering that I had just posted a curmudgeonly amendment to the Comment-o-festo …

One of the juicy morsels I et yesterday while not reading the blog comments: a multi-cultivar tomato salad with fried goat cheese and about 36 different herbs, made by my sibling Tidy, who, to the undiluted satisfaction of the Faster family palates, has been watching that smarmy Napa dude on The Food Channel. i have …

The equivalent of consent: a couple of prickly pear margs at El Gringo. Dig free rape porn? The Joplin Globe endeavors to give satisfaction. The Missouri paper, whose motto is apparently “It’s your girl. We deliver it,” titillated readers on May 10 (and for all I know it may do this all the time) with …

Tacos are all well and good, but two or three times a week, when dessert time rolls around, the spinster aunt yearns for a sublime, tiny overpriced morsel of brie, grilled scallops, morels, and about two sticks of butter. The brie “lasagne” at Jeffrey’s on West Lynn is indeed microscopic, but so redolent with gross …

Come for the blaming, stay for the trippy childhood idylls of the commentariat. She also got us hot dogs afterwards at a place with a giant hot dog painted on the wall. The hot dog was floating in Lake Michigan off shore from Chicago. Fire-engine boats were using their hoses to launch mustard and ketchup …

Stingray’s garish lunch. P. Terry’s Burger Stand, S. Lamar, March 2007. I’ve been threatening for some time now to inaugurate a “Dear God, What About the Men?” section in the FAQ. I envision it as required reading for callow dudely proto-blamers, with the impossible-but-I-can-dream-can’t-I goal of keepin’em out of the comments section until they get …

As you can see, it’s headed right for me. I know. I recently intimated that once I’d returned from my tarriance in North Texas I would resume posting substantive radical feminist/science fiction critiques of contemporary civilization. Inconveniently, it turns out that it’s thunderstorming today, so I can’t possibly embark on any endeavor more intellectually strenuous …

Somewhat better than lutefisk: the loaf of meat at a new joint on South Congress called, I am sorry to say, The Woodland. It is the sort of place that sells plates of “comfort food” for $12, has a fake tree growing in the middle of the room, and alludes to whipped potatoes as “mashers.” …

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